Mar 24th, 2026
Oberstleutnant Müett Becker, standing at a compact height of 171 cm, radiates a commanding authority, his posture a reflection of years dedicated to military discipline. His shoulders, wide and imposing even for a man of greater height, convey a lifetime of rigorous physical training, each muscle finely honed to perfection, creating a solid, triangular silhouette above his sturdy legs. His neck, thick and substantial, supports a head adorned with hair that, though increasingly touched by silver, is kept meticulously short, illustrating a man who prioritizes precision in both his appearance and life.
His gaze, intense and discerning, is colored in shades of caramel, eyes that have witnessed the spectrum of human emotion yet remain undimmed by the sights of battle and despair. The landscape of his face is marked by a bulbous nose, its shape telling the tale of fractures endured on three separate occasions, each deviation a badge of resilience rather than defect. On his right forearm, a large knife scar snakes its way across the skin, a silent chronicle of close encounters and survival.
He disliked changes in his routine, a mildly ironic trait given his primary role in responding to catastrophes. Last week, with the world's vitality diminishing, he lamented the necessity of using the base barber, missing his usual drive for a haircut in town. This week, he appreciated the luxury of having a barber and secure housing. Though he wished to check on his town residence, duty required him to stay on base, ready for action.
Karwendel-Kaserne Military Base had been his residence for the last twelve years. However, with retirement at age 60 approaching, now less than a year away, he began to challenge his stoic disposition to establish connections in Mittenwald. This endeavor started with purchasing an apartment and slowly expanded to include social interactions with a few neighbors.
The recent week unfolded in turmoil, characterized by frantic and conflicting orders from various bases, which disrupted the established chain of command. He was acutely aware of the degree to which both the organization and broader society were starting to come apart at the seams.
The Army was in the midst of a tumultuous reorganization, with personnel being transferred and new faces arriving as resources were reallocated. Müett viewed this as a strategic misstep, believing it more advantageous to retain individuals familiar with the area and loyal to it. Yet, with nearly four decades of unwavering obedience to orders behind him, he couldn't easily dismiss his ingrained discipline. Despite this, he recognized the signs of impending change and began to contemplate alternative strategies for his future, preparing for what lay ahead with a clear and decisive mindset.
Müett Becker had held the rank of Oberstleutnant for six years. It was a common practice for one or two promotions to be awarded near the end of a distinguished military career as a form of recognition. As anticipated, the Oberst, who was the former head of the base, had been transferred to Hamburg. Contrary to Müett's expectations, the Oberstleutnant, who had been training as his successor for the last two years, received the promotion intended for him. Although Müett understood the logic behind this decision and knew it shouldn't affect him given the state of the world, it nevertheless wounded his pride.
Müett was acutely aware that the base was deemed a low priority by the military hierarchy and anticipated it would soon be stripped of resources as they became increasingly scarce. Amid these reflections, he was mentally strategizing on which resources and personnel to commandeer in order to establish a makeshift militia for the town's protection. It was during these contemplations that orders to aerially distribute leaflets along the A-95 near Munich landed on his desk. The accompanying dossier, with photos taken just two hours earlier, depicted an unmistakable exodus: easily 100,000 people fleeing Munich down the A95.
As Müett Becker observed the exodus, he couldn't help but muse on the fragility of large cities in the face of supply chain disruptions. It was a stark reminder of how quickly these bastions of human civilization could collapse when the lifelines of food, water, and energy were severed. The rapidity with which order unraveled and chaos took its place underscored the precarious balance on which modern urban centers existed. The sight of tens of thousands fleeing their homes was a poignant illustration of this vulnerability, showcasing the domino effect that ensues when the essentials of daily life are no longer assured. This reflection not only deepened his understanding of societal structures but also highlighted the critical importance of contingency planning in maintaining stability amidst crisis.
The dossier was accompanied by the usual tiny USB drive, which contained all the information in digital format, including the photographs. To Müett's relief, it also held video footage, providing a more comprehensive view of the situation than he had hoped for. This digital compilation offered a vivid and immediate insight into the unfolding crisis, allowing him to assess the extent of the exodus and the conditions that spurred it with greater accuracy and depth.
The helicopter appeared to swoop in on the crowd, varying its recording altitude from approximately 30 to 200 meters. Despite the changes in height, the density of the crowd was so intense that, from above, they almost seemed like a liquid mass, spreading out and flowing along the channel of the highway, with some individuals spilling into adjacent byways. The footage also captured scenes of conflict within the crowd, resulting in numerous casualties. The sheer number of people was so overwhelming that many of the fallen were carried along for a distance, unable to find space to settle, painting a stark picture of desperation and chaos.
As he absorbed the details from the video, the gravity of the situation sank in. The exodus, barely two hours old, was already at Munich's outskirts, with harrowing glimpses suggesting the crowd stretched back into the city, a relentless human tide fleeing disaster. With Munich's population of 1.8 million and seven major exit routes, the potential scale of the crisis loomed large in his thoughts. The grim hope that perhaps half had already succumbed to violence, starvation, or illness crossed his mind, a dark acknowledgment of the desperation of their circumstances.
In this moment, Müett's objectives aligned with the military's broader strategy. Disseminating pamphlets to sow misinformation and offer false hope about safe havens elsewhere seemed a cruel, yet necessary tactic to divert the human deluge away from their location. With a sense of urgency, he commanded the preparation of flyers and the deployment of three helicopters within the hour. Their mission was clear: to intercept the crowd as it neared the spur to Starnberg, redirecting some towards Bad Tölz, in the hopes that the formidable barrier of the Alps would dissipate their numbers. The strategy was harsh, aiming to redirect this human "weapon" towards other towns, sparing their own by sacrificing others to the unforgiving elements of the mountains.
Within 10 minutes, nine mock up designs were laid out on his steel desk. One side, uniform across all designs, painted a vivid picture of Nürnberg as a bastion of resilience and sustainability amidst the chaos:
Amidst chaos, Nürnberg stands as a self-sustaining sanctuary. Our city thrives on unity, hard work, and innovation. We've mastered sustainable living, from rooftop gardens to clean energy, ensuring safety and abundance for all.
Dedicated souls eager to contribute, possessing skills for our collective prosperity. Nürnberg is not a place of refuge for the idle but a community for the active builders of a sustainable future.
Only those ready to join our efforts and uphold our values of hard work and resilience should approach. Our success comes from each citizen's dedication.
If you're committed to building a better tomorrow, Nürnberg welcomes you. Together, we're crafting a beacon of hope.
The reverse side of each pamphlet featured nine target towns, each promising comfort and respite on the journey to Nürnberg. Crafted to bypass skepticism and appeal to various impulses—whether the need for assistance or a desire to contribute—these pamphlets were a masterclass in persuasive design, directing people towards destinations that seemed easier than Mittenwald. The underlying strategy was to guide them towards these cities, and when they found nothing, they would be more inclined to continue on to Nürnberg.
He approved all nine mock ups, requisitioned the use of nine laser printers, dispatched someone to gather stacks and reams of copy paper, and set about producing 10,000 copies of each flyer. This was a calculated move to manage the flow of humanity, steering it towards a hopeful yet illusory promise of sanctuary.
Each helicopter was equipped with three sets of flyers, each batch earmarked for different sections of the highway: from just ahead of the advancing crowd, to its center, towards the city's edge, and finally into the city center itself. Flying low, the goal was for the flyers to primarily land within the crowd or on the highway, ensuring maximum reach and impact. To maintain oversight and adapt tactics as necessary, he established a channel for live video feedback directly to his station. This setup allowed him to monitor the distribution's effectiveness in real-time, making it possible to adjust the operation based on the crowd's movement and the flyers' dispersion patterns.
'AI' software was diligently synthesizing the feeds to estimate the crowd's size, already calculating it at 34,211 from the limited coverage available. Müett foresaw no outcome other than a dire conflict, and he was determined to ensure that both he and the town emerged on the victorious side of the impending chaos. Meanwhile, military priorities placed the base above the town's safety, a strategy Müett could not align with. As he sat watching the monitors, he anticipated the inevitable orders that would come through—orders whose countermand he was prepared to fabricate. In this high-stakes game, Müett was ready to take decisive, albeit unauthorized, actions to protect his town and its inhabitants from the looming threat.
The flyover targeted the crowd's southern vanguard, bombarding them with flyers filled with misinformation and amplifying messages through a megaphone that proclaimed the military had established a safety zone. "Take the ring around Munich; the city has become too dangerous. There are rest areas along the way, but they may not last—get yourself to Nürnberg," blared the announcement.
As individuals bent to collect the flyers, the dire consequences of the crush became evident. They were trampled by those behind them, who, in a tragic domino effect, also fell and suffered the same fate. Watching from his monitors, Becker observed the crowd's number decline slightly—a detail that brought him a perverse sense of satisfaction, a feeling he knew would haunt him in the days to come.
Initially, aside from the tragic ripple effect of individuals being crushed at the front, the crowd's movement showed little change. Then, abruptly, a significant portion veered off onto the 952, with a large, likely uninformed group trailing behind them. Müett watched the counter closely: 30,922. The possibility of reducing the crowd to 20,000 began to flicker through his mind, but he knew that number was still overwhelmingly high. It was time for him to make his first significant decision.
Just then, an order arrived to deploy a battalion of Gebirgsjäger to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. This confirmed Müett's worst fears: the military intended to funnel the mass through Mittenwald into Austria. The potential harm this plan could inflict on his adopted city was intolerable to him. Faced with this directive, Müett knew he had to take decisive action to protect his community, even if it meant diverging from official military orders. The moment had come for him to commit to his plan and make a move that would define the fate of Mittenwald.
In the chaos of a fracturing chain of command, the resulting ambiguity afforded officers like Becker increased discretion in interpreting orders. Seizing this opportunity, Becker fabricated a second order, ostensibly from Elsdorf NATO air base—a clear breach of protocol but strategically chosen due to its nominally higher authority compared to the source of the initial directive. This manipulation created a buffer of plausible deniability, making the order difficult to verify and offering Becker a veil of protection for his actions. He altered the order to redirect a battalion of Gebirgsjäger to Eschenlohe, with instructions to either turn back the advancing crowd or, if necessary, halt their progression by force. By marking the order as authenticated, Becker cleverly introduced a conflict between two directives, with insufficient troops to fulfill both.
In a display of calculated indecision, Becker scribbled notes on the orders to give the appearance of hesitancy, then dispatched two 120-member battalions, A and B, to Eschenlohe, granting them authorization and ordinance to use lethal force if required. A smaller, 60-member battalion, C, was sent to Garmisch-Partenkirchen, in line with the original order. The primary directive for A and B battalions emphasized the preservation of infrastructure, indicating that while Becker was prepared to take drastic measures to protect Mittenwald and control the crowd, he remained mindful of the long-term consequences of his actions.
He requisitioned 3 M113 Armored Personnel Carriers on his own discretion to block the highway at the choke point in Eschenlohe and sent the motor pool into overdrive, ordering 4 mounted machine guns on each vehicle and some smoke grenade launchers as modifications needed within two hours. He needed them faster, even though he had little doubt they would not hit the deadline.
He closed his eyes, took a moment to breathe deeply, and counted to five. Despite the urgency of every passing second, he understood the importance of allowing his mental gears a brief respite to adjust. Upon reopening his eyes, the first thing he noted was the crowd's vanguard, now alarmingly close to Eschenlohe, followed by the updated count: 26,440. The leaflets had been more effective than anticipated, yet still insufficient.
For the task ahead, he had specifically chosen Captain Aleksandrovskiy-Tsekarevich, a Russian officer, anticipating such a critical moment. With the flyers depleted and their mission reduced to mere observation and continued warnings, Müett shifted his approach from that of a commander to a confidant, "Boris, dump half your fuel on the leading edge of the crowd and ignite it... remain on station as long as your fuel permits."
Seeking clarity, the Captain asked, "To clarify, sir, drop the fuel in front of the people, or directly on them?"
"Shock and awe, Captain. We're setting them ablaze," Müett responded, a directive laden with grim resolve.
"Understood," came the reply, the Captain's voice bearing a weight of sadness but a readiness to comply, a soldier prepared to follow through with his orders and find peace with them afterward.
Müett harbored doubts about his own ability to reconcile with such decisions. Furthermore, he resolved that should they emerge victorious today, he would abandon his post, a decision driven by the harrowing choices he faced.
Next, he reached for his walkie to contact Captain Anna Müller, requesting her with urgency. Upon establishing contact, he ordered the activation of encryption protocol A23, signifying the gravity of their ensuing communications and the desperate measures now in motion.
"Operation Mittenhüten begins tonight," he declared with a tone that underscored the urgency and gravity of their situation. He was referring to the six local lieutenants and captains he had carefully selected and prepared for precisely this scenario—individuals whose loyalty to the army was unwavering, yet whose commitment to their town and families ran even deeper.
"You'll find requisitions already prepared for vehicles, along with the necessary supplies and weapons to equip them. Ensure everything is ready and stored discreetly on the base, in a location where it won't be discovered. The moment I have confirmation that the town is secure, we're evacuating," he instructed firmly, laying out the plan with clear intent.
"Feel free to forge any documents you might need from me; I'll support your actions," he added, giving them carte blanche to use his authority as needed to facilitate their preparations. This directive not only empowered them but also placed immense trust in their hands, indicating Müett's readiness to take all necessary measures to protect their community, even if it meant bending the rules to their breaking point.
He laughed, a brief, humorless sound, as the phrase 'bending the rules' flitted through his mind. The reality was far more severe: he had forged orders, sabotaged operations, formed an internal militia under his command, and was on the verge of commandeering government property. He was preparing to desert his post and was persuading others to follow suit. And, in the most dire of his actions, he was about to authorize lethal force against unarmed civilians—a move that, should reporters catch wind of it, would likely be sanitized to the public as an unfortunate incident involving individuals "out for a walk." If civilization managed to cling together long enough for justice to take its course, facing a court martial and the death penalty was not beyond the realm of possibility. Yet, in the shadow of impending chaos, these prospects seemed almost abstract, distant concerns compared to the immediate crisis at hand.
Suddenly, the cabin was filled with the sound of Phil Collins's "In the Air Tonight," translated into German by AI, as had become popular in late 2025. The sound was oddly terrifying, and someone scrambled to turn a knob that significantly lowered their volume. The crowd below was still getting it at full blast—a warning that something was about to happen.
The helicopter's camera captured the conflagration in stark, vivid detail—a mass of humanity, approximately 40 individuals wide and 100 deep, was suddenly and completely enveloped in flames. The figures within this inferno were caught mid-scream, their bodies flailing in a futile attempt to escape the engulfing fire. Thick, black smoke billowed upwards, frequently obscuring the view of the cameras and causing the AI's crowd counter to fluctuate erratically.
"Nun, wenn du mir sagen würdest, dass du ertrinkst, würde ich nicht Hand anlegen. Ich habe dein Gesicht schon einmal gesehen, mein Freund, aber ich weiß nicht, ob du weißt, wer ich bin."
Watching this horror unfold on the monitors, Becker was overcome. He grasped his wastebasket, leaning over it as he dry-heaved, the visceral reaction a testament to the gravity of the decision he had made and the immediate, devastating impact it wrought.
Meanwhile, a significant portion of the crowd, possibly numbering around a thousand people, found themselves trapped in a dire situation. In a panicked attempt to escape the flames, they surged backward, colliding with the masses behind them and creating a lethal bottleneck. Caught between the advancing inferno and the immovable press of bodies, the crowd stalled. At the epicenter of this chaos, individuals were mercilessly crushed under the weight of opposing forces, each driven by a desperate, primal instinct to survive.
This scene, captured from the air, painted a harrowing picture of desperation, fear, and the catastrophic consequences of extreme measures taken in crisis—a moment that would undoubtedly haunt all who witnessed it, directly or indirectly, for the rest of their lives.
Becker observed that the crowd's advance had nearly halted. This catastrophic action, which he couldn't help but internally acknowledge as a 'war crime,' had effectively bought crucial time. The mountain brigade was now closer to being fully positioned, and the armored vehicles, nearly prepared for deployment, would soon arrive to block the road. It was a grim achievement, providing cold comfort amidst the chaos. Yet, in these desperate times, he accepted it, however reluctantly.
For Becker, the mission had always been paramount, a guiding principle that justified the most harrowing decisions. He was a man accustomed to doing whatever was necessary, even at great personal cost. This moment was a stark testament to that resolve, highlighting a willingness to sacrifice his own moral peace for the perceived greater good. It was a choice that underscored the heavy burden borne by those in command, where the line between right and wrong blurs in the face of unprecedented crises.
Captain Anna Müller, Captain Erik Weber, Hauptmann Julia Schmidt, Leutnant Niklas Wagner, Captain Lena Fischer, Oberleutnant Maximilian Richter, and finally Hauptmann Clara Blikker—one by one, they had called in on the walkie, acknowledging they were supplied, secluded, and awaiting orders on Mittenhüten. All the while, the fire burned on the monitors. Bodies were surprisingly good fuel; it was lasting much longer than he had predicted to extinguish. Some were fanning out into the alps. The AI had determined that the burning square contains no living bodies, and the count was now stable at 13,013.
A group had started along the railroad track, and Becker sighed deeply and ordered the Russian to dump whatever fuel he could spare and light them up. Why won't these people take the hint? Becker was getting angry at what he was forced to do. He ordered the copter covering the first leg from the city to drop back and cover the front that the Russian now had to abandon to return to base.
As the late afternoon sun dipped behind the Alps, casting long shadows over the landscape, Gebirgsjäger units A and B reported they were in position, confirming they had sighted the front of the crowd at approximately 23 kilometers. Simultaneously, the M113 Armored Personnel Carriers, now fully equipped and ready for deployment, reported their departure from the base. The encroaching darkness added a somber tone to the already tense atmosphere, signaling the operation's next phase under the cover of dusk. The coordination between the ground units and the logistical support highlighted the meticulous planning and execution of their defensive strategy, setting the stage for the impending standoff.
As twilight enveloped the landscape, the diminished procession of travelers neared Ohlstadt, situated 6.2 kilometers from the meticulously prepared blockade—marked not just by the imposing presence of trucks and a wooden barricade but more significantly by a thick yellow line drawn across the highway. This line served as a stark ultimatum to the approaching masses.
Becker observed a notable fraction of the group, approximately 600 individuals, diverging towards Ohlstadt, a move that reduced the count to 9,474. This number was continually updated by the trio of refueled helicopters that circled overhead. Equipped with bright lights to cut through the darkness and loudspeakers that tirelessly repeated their grim warning—"cross the yellow line, and all that remain shall burn. Turn around and head elsewhere."—the helicopters were both beacon and harbinger, guiding and forewarning.
This relentless aerial message underscored the gravity of the situation, aiming to deter further advancement towards the blockade. It was a clear demonstration of the lengths to which Becker and his team were willing to go, employing both psychological tactics and physical barriers to contain the movement of the crowd and prevent any breach of the designated perimeter. The choice of Ohlstadt by some as an alternative destination hinted at the effectiveness of the operation's multifaceted approach, steering the crowd away from the critical areas and dispersing its density, albeit at a significant moral and ethical cost.
"Collingwald? How far can the smoke grenade launcher launch?"
Major Collingwald responded, his voice carrying a blend of readiness and apprehension, "About 5 kilometers, sir, 3 if you're aiming for pinpoint accuracy."
The geographical layout just south of Eschenlohe, where two minor roads converged with the A95, was tactically significant. Here, the Alps pressed close against the highway's western edge, with a river, roughly as wide as the road itself, running parallel on the opposite side, flanked by more mountains. This natural constriction created an ideal chokepoint, strategic for control but with the somber realization that Eschenlohe might bear the brunt of the ensuing stand.
Becker's mind was already racing ahead, calculating, planning. "When they reach the turnoff for Garmisch, hit them with a half-kilometer stretch of tear gas," he ordered, his voice steady. This decision wasn't made lightly. The use of tear gas was a drastic measure, intended to disperse the crowd without lethal force, yet it underscored the dire nature of the situation. It was a clear signal of Becker's determination to hold the line, to use every means at his disposal to prevent the crowd from advancing through this critical juncture, even as he grappled with the ethical weight of his command.
"Shit, Bekka!" Becker's voice cut sharply through the tense atmosphere of the command center as he called for his secretary. "Contact the police, fire department, and town council in Eschenlohe. Warn them that 1-2 thousand extremely dangerous and starving intruders from Munich are about 20-30 minutes out from reaching their location. Stress that they are in danger." Knowing Bekka's efficiency and capability, he confidently delegated this critical task, certain it would be handled with the utmost urgency, allowing him to focus his attention back on the immediate tactical situation.
Returning to the radio communication with his units, Becker issued his next command with clear, decisive authority. "Unit B, I need half of your forces to fall back to the junction where the spur from Eschenlohe reenters the A95. Anyone making it through the town will emerge there. You should have a clear line of sight from the roundabout, so ensure no one gets back onto the main highway. This is our absolute line of defense - you are authorized to use all necessary means to prevent any breach."
His instructions were unambiguous, marking the junction as the critical barrier to prevent the crowd from infiltrating further. By empowering Unit B with full authority to take whatever actions they deemed necessary, Becker underscored the gravity of the situation and his determination to safeguard the region at all costs, while simultaneously wrestling with the moral implications of such a stark directive.
Amid the cacophony of crisis, Becker found himself at the epicenter of a whirlwind of communications, orchestrating a symphony of strategic responses with the finesse of a seasoned conductor. His voice was the command that set actions into motion, with Bekka promptly responding to his directives, a testament to the seamless teamwork under pressure. The command center buzzed with activity: encrypted walkie-talkies crackled with updates from his renegade squads; separate radio channels were dedicated to coordinating the movements of Gebirgsjäger units A and B, and the blockade; helicopter pilots relayed aerial insights across three additional frequencies. All the while, Becker adeptly managed inquiries from his Oberst over the phone, a delicate dance of reassurance and authority.
The relentless stream of emergency aid requests from towns now besieged by the redirected crowds created a persistent background noise of fax machines, each incoming sheet acting as a sharp reminder of the consequences of his decisions. With practiced ease, Becker flipped through channels, his commands slicing through the static, a clear, decisive presence amid the chaos. Years of crisis management had honed his ability to juggle multiple threads of communication, making a task that was anything but simple appear almost effortless. This tableau of controlled chaos showcased not just the complexity of the situation but the depth of Becker's commitment and capability, a leader forged and tempered in the crucible of crisis.
Becker allowed himself a moment of respite, closing his eyes and taking a deep, measured breath, counting slowly to five. Then, with a sense of resolve hardening within him, he switched the radio to channel 11, the frequency that unified all his units under one command.
"Once they pass the exit for Michael-Fischer-Straße, their only option is to turn back or advance into our designated yellow zone. Therefore, mountain snipers, barricade snipers, copter snipers, it's time to initiate contact on the lead intruders. Aim for clean headshots to drop them. The objective is to deter the rest, to turn them back. Remember, any individual who enters the yellow zone will leave us no choice but to firebomb them en masse, so every life you manage to turn away is a horrendous death spared. God save us all. To the copter units, ensure no one breaches the yellow zone—the blockade will hold them there, but it's on you to make a stand and light them all up. You have full autonomy within these parameters. I'm going dark now. The safety of the base and the town rests in your hands."
As he released the transmit button, a heavy silence filled the command center. His gaze drifted to the counter: 4,582. The number was alarmingly low, a discrepancy that nagged at him. Where had the others gone? This unexpected drop in numbers introduced a new layer of complexity to the situation, suggesting that a significant portion of the crowd had diverged from the anticipated path. The realization that there were variables at play beyond his current field of vision weighed heavily on Becker, a stark reminder of the unpredictable and chaotic nature of human behavior, especially under duress. The task ahead for his units was clear, yet the outcome remained uncertain, shadowed by the moral and ethical implications of their impending actions.
With a heavy sigh, Becker momentarily broke his own declaration of going dark, compelled by the necessity of the situation to reach out to copter B for a crucial update. "Braunmann, take a loop over the passageways leading to Eschenlohe. I'm missing 3-4 thousand from the count."
The response came swiftly, shedding light on the situation. "We're observing significant engagement on the western Alps side. It seems our actions have driven a considerable number mountainward, where Unit A is likely engaging them."
"Understood. Provide me with an estimate of the crowd currently advancing towards Eschenlohe, then conduct a thorough assessment based on what you've observed before returning to your position," Becker instructed, his voice a blend of command and concern. With that, he signed off, "Becker out."
The monitors displayed a haunting scene as the highway became obscured by a dense, unyielding kilometer of smoke—the result of tear gas deployment. The advancing crowd had reached the 3 km mark, triggering this chemical barrier. In an unusual twist of fate, the weather played into the operation's hands; the air was eerily calm, a rare occurrence in the Alpine region where winds were typically a constant, forceful presence. This serendipitous calm meant that the tear gas remained concentrated, hovering in place without the usual dispersal that the Alpine winds would have guaranteed.
This stagnant cloud of tear gas created an effective, albeit temporary, barrier, hindering the crowd's advance and adding a layer of complexity to their already desperate situation. The visual on the monitors, with the gas casting a ghostly veil over the highway, served as a stark reminder of the operation's gravity and the severe measures being employed. In the face of such adversity, the calm weather, usually a blessing, now seemed an ominous ally, enhancing the efficacy of the tear gas and complicating the moral and strategic landscape of the crisis.
Within the dense fog of tear gas, eight distinct red flashes suddenly illuminated the obscured highway. These were Ehrfurchtsbrecher, or "Awe Breakers," designed to unleash bright red bursts of light combined with concussive blasts. Detonating approximately 4 meters above the ground, they were engineered to simulate the overwhelming force of a massive explosion without causing any damage to the infrastructure.
The primary purpose of these devices was psychological, to instill fear and disorientation among the crowd, thereby halting their advance or even causing them to retreat. The concussive force of the blasts was enough to temporarily impair hearing, potentially rupturing eardrums, while leaving the surrounding environment unscathed. This tactical choice underscored the operation's intent to control and disperse the crowd using non-lethal yet highly intimidating measures, walking a fine line between effective crowd management and the avoidance of permanent physical harm to the individuals involved.
With one helicopter diverted for reconnaissance and the thick smoke from tear gas obscuring visibility, the counter became momentarily unreliable, unable to provide an accurate tally of the crowd. Beyond the dense chemical barrier, the mass of people had halted, deterred by the intimidating presence of the tear gas. Into this standoff, an Ehrfurchtsbrecher was deployed, detonating lower than intended amidst the crowd. The resulting bright explosion and concussive blast sent a shockwave of panic through those nearest to the impact, prompting an immediate and chaotic retreat.
This reaction rippled through the crowd, with those further back, misunderstanding the nature of the explosion and presuming the army was employing missiles, swiftly turning to flee as well. As the initial group's numbers swelled with more joining the retreat, a collective impulse took hold, the human tide turning en masse. The sight of their compatriots in flight, coupled with the misconception of facing lethal force, amplified the urgency to escape, demonstrating the profound psychological impact of fear and confusion in high-stress situations.
Becker, well-versed in the necessity of maintaining one's physical strength even when stress and turmoil make eating seem unappealing, had Bekka order a Reuben sandwich for him. Her proactive approach, having placed the order 20 minutes prior without his prompt, was a testament to her efficiency and foresight. A fleeting thought crossed Becker's mind, regretting that circumstances would not allow him to bring Bekka along in his eventual departure. Her competence and support had become invaluable, a small beacon of reliability in the chaos.
Copter B's report came in, detailing the size and spread of the crowd approaching Eschenlohe: 3,400 individuals, a force spreading along the road's length, with some nearly reaching the town. This figure resonated ominously with Becker, translating to one and a half invaders for every resident of the town. A dark, pragmatic part of his mind coldly calculated the necessity of eliminating the threat in its entirety, yet he was paradoxically relieved by the lack of resources to carry out such an extreme measure. Deep down, he hoped this limitation was not just a matter of logistics but also a reflection of his lingering humanity, a part of him still clinging to the principles that seemed increasingly distant in the face of the escalating crisis.
As the situation unfolded with relentless intensity, a small, insidious part of Becker's mind began to churn out grim monikers for the events transpiring under his command: "Munich Massacre," "die Donnerstagswirren," "Roasting Refugees." These labels, dark and evocative, were the creation of a nagging voice within him, a manifestation of his deepest fears and moral conflicts about the actions he was overseeing.
This internal voice, though currently a whisper among the cacophony of crisis management and strategic decisions, troubled Becker deeply. He recognized the potential for such thoughts to amplify, transforming from a background murmur into a loud, accusing chorus that could haunt him. The emergence of this voice signified the beginning of a psychological struggle, a battle between the pragmatic, hardened commander focused on the immediate necessity of protecting the town and the base, and the individual, deeply empathetic human being grappling with the ethical implications of his decisions.
As the clock edged closer to midnight, the last remnants of the tear gas were finally dispersed by a belated wind, clearing the air and revealing the aftermath of the confrontation. Becker assessed the situation with a heavy heart: around 600 individuals lay huddled on the ground near the initial blockade, their resolve broken, the immediate threat they posed nearly neutralized. Farther afield, approximately 2,000 people had scattered into the western Alps, their intentions and potential threat unclear. However, it was the spur leading to Eschenlohe that commanded his attention, where 3,400 people were advancing towards the small town, threatening to overwhelm it before spilling out at the secondary blockade on the A95.
Despite every instinct urging him to take control, Becker resisted the temptation to issue further commands. He had committed to allowing those on the front lines to operate independently, recognizing that their immediate access to on-the-ground intelligence enabled them to make more effective tactical decisions without his remote oversight. Through the chatter he monitored, he learned that blockade unit B was strategically falling back to reinforce an earlier position, while Copter B tracked the main body of the advancing crowd. Gebirgsjäger Unit B was actively engaging stronger-looking individuals within the crowd, employing both gunfire and environmental obstacles like felled trees and napalm strips to block and deter their advance.
The grim realization dawned on Becker that victory was within grasp, defined not by the cessation of hostilities but by how many more lives would be lost in the process. While maintaining the A95's integrity had been a critical objective, he harbored no such reservations about the spur. In a last-resort scenario, the remaining crowd could be decisively stopped, even if it meant resorting to extreme measures.
Utilizing the encrypted walkie, Becker reached out to Anna with final instructions, granting her and her team an exit strategy under the guise of a resupply convoy. "You have a pass as a resupply convoy. Take off now, head into town, lay low for a day, and I'll contact you on Saturday," he instructed, ensuring a path for her safe withdrawal from the chaos. His message was clear: the conflict's outcome was effectively determined, a fait accompli, but the cleanup—the resolution of the human and moral fallout—remained. This acknowledgment signaled not just the end of the operation but the beginning of a reckoning with its consequences, a burden Becker and his team would carry long after the last flames had been extinguished.
Helicopters A and B, now tasked with aerial surveillance over Eschenlohe, transmitted harrowing images back to the command center, revealing the devastating aftermath of the town's overrun. The scenes depicted were of an utter bloodbath, a stark testament to the desperation and brutality that had ensued. The so-called invaders, driven by starvation and despair, had resorted to killing and pillaging, consuming whatever food they could find in a frenzied attempt to regain their strength. With this renewed vigor, they looted, filling pillowcases and sacks with whatever supplies were at hand, a grim survival instinct taking hold.
As they continued their march along the spur, their numbers diminished not by any external force but through infighting, as they clashed over the precious resources they had scavenged. This internecine conflict further reduced their ranks, highlighting the tragic descent into chaos among those who, under different circumstances, might have sought to support and protect one another.
These images of violence and desperation, of a community torn asunder and the primal struggle for survival, painted a grim picture of the human cost of the crisis. For Becker and his team, the footage served as a painful reminder of the operation's broader implications, the moral and ethical dilemmas faced, and the indelible scars that would mark both the survivors and those who had sought to manage the catastrophe. The aftermath in Eschenlohe was a dire illustration of the lengths to which humanity could be pushed in the face of existential threats, and the complex, often heartbreaking decisions necessitated by such extreme circumstances.
Amidst the turmoil, Becker found himself caught in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Anger, exhaustion, and a surge of adrenaline clashed within him, each vying for dominance. In a desperate bid to reconcile with the horrific outcome unfolding before his eyes—a massacre that was, in part, a result of his own orders—he redirected his burgeoning guilt towards the crowd. It was a coping mechanism, albeit a fleeting one, as he sought to find some semblance of justification for the unthinkable decisions he was compelled to make.
Seizing the radio's microphone with a resolve born of desperation, Becker's voice, gruff yet betraying a profound weariness of the soul, issued a final, grim command. "We end this now," he declared, the weight of his directive heavy with both determination and despair. "Use all but the fuel you need to get home and soak them all and light them up. Nobody walks away." The moment the words left his mouth, a visceral reaction took hold, prompting him to release the microphone as he succumbed to the urge to vomit, a physical manifestation of the internal conflict and revulsion at the order he had just given.
He closed his eyes, counted, and then resumed. Upon opening his eyes, he noticed the wrappers from a sandwich he had no memory of eating and swept them into the wastebasket.
Regaining a semblance of composure, he re-engaged the microphone, his directive unwavering despite the personal toll it exacted. "I don't want anyone to reach A95. I want this shitshow to end with 0 casualties on our end." His words, while aimed at ensuring the safety and preservation of his own forces, underscored the tragic paradox of his position: in seeking to protect, he had ordered an act of devastating aggression.
This moment marked a critical point of no return for Becker, embodying the harrowing choices faced by those in command during crises. The decision to use lethal force against the advancing crowd, though driven by a strategic desire to prevent further casualties among his own ranks, left an indelible mark on his conscience. It was a stark reminder of the devastating impact of leadership decisions in times of conflict, where the line between duty and humanity becomes blurred, and the cost of safety and security is measured in human lives.
The back of Becker's mind buzzed with ominous titles, "Vernichter von Eschenlohe" (The Destroyer of Eschenlohe), "Einäscherung in Eschenlohe" (The Incineration in Eschenlohe), "Flammender Todeshändlereach" a grim testament to the unfolding tragedy and his role within it. These internal whispers grew louder, echoing the severity of his actions and the haunting reality that the crisis engulfing Eschenlohe was but a microcosm of a larger catastrophe.
With 1.8 million people in Munich alone, only a fraction had been directed towards his jurisdiction. The same horrifying scenario, he realized, was likely unfolding across Germany, not just emanating from Munich but from other densely populated centers like Hanover and Hamburg. The mere thought of Berlin, with its sprawling urban landscape and vast population, filled him with dread.
Amidst this reflection, Becker was plagued by doubt and speculation about the decisions made by other commanders facing similar invasions. He couldn't help but wonder if alternative strategies could have been employed, strategies that might have resulted in less loss of life and avoided the betrayal of his oath to protect. This line of thought forced him to confront the possibility that the choices he had made, while dictated by the urgency and desperation of the situation, might not have been the only path available. The thought that there might have been a way to navigate this crisis with more humanity and fewer casualties weighed heavily on him, casting a long shadow over the decisions he had made in the name of security and survival.
"Bekka! Wait a quarter of an hour, then inform command that I've gone to oversee the finalization personally." Becker knew Bekka was sharp enough to understand the purpose behind the delay—it was typically meant to prevent any possibility of countermanding orders. However, her assumptions were off-mark this time. Becker wasn't headed to the scene of the conflict; instead, he was setting a false trail, directing any potential pursuers in the wrong direction as he made his way towards Mittenwald. It had become painfully clear to him that, in the wake of tonight's events and likely for days to come, Germany as a cohesive entity had fractured. Yet, Becker resolved to preserve a small bastion of order, to keep one tiny piece of the country thriving amidst the chaos.
The M113 Armored Personnel Carrier that Becker had strategically reserved was now fully laden, not just with the remaining armaments from the armory but also with diesel fuel, a topped-off reserve tank, and additional containers of fuel and oil. Methodically, he disabled the vehicle's locator and severed its network link, ensuring that its movements would remain untracked and untraceable. This APC was one of seven vehicles he had prepared, but unlike the others, which were packed with clothing, food, medicine, equipment, and other essentials for survival, his was uniquely equipped to serve not just as a means of transport but as a weapon in its own right.
This deliberate preparation highlighted Becker's foresight and the gravity with which he approached the situation. Recognizing the need for a diverse array of resources to sustain a small community in the face of societal collapse, he also understood the necessity of maintaining a defensive capability. The M113, armed and ready, represented a tangible assertion of his commitment to protect and preserve what remained of order, a mobile bastion in a rapidly disintegrating world.
As Becker set off, the significance of this vehicle—and the supplies it carried—was not lost on him. It symbolized a lifeline, a beacon of hope, and a formidable guard against the chaos that had engulfed the country. In his decision to prepare and personally oversee the deployment of these resources, Becker embodied a resolve to carve out a sanctuary amidst the turmoil, a testament to his determination to safeguard a future, however uncertain it may be.
As he drove past the gate, he noted its lack of guards—an omission that would have troubled him deeply under different circumstances. But as the road stretched out before him, leading him away from the epicenter of the crisis, a grim acceptance settled over him. "No longer my problem," he thought, a stark resignation in his mind as he distanced himself from the fallout of the decisions made. This moment marked not just a physical departure from the scene but a symbolic severance from the role he had played—a final step in a journey that had tested the limits of his duty, his morality, his sanity, and his will to act in the face of unimaginable challenges.